


Paradise

by petitebilliejoe (fueledbyfemme)



Category: American Idiot, Green Day
Genre: F/M, Implied drug usage, also past abuse is implied, idk the relationships are implied, jesus of suburbia and jimmy are the same person this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fueledbyfemme/pseuds/petitebilliejoe
Summary: The pair did not have much: a mattress lifted from a dumpster, a few blankets, a trash bag full of Jimmy’s things and a suitcase full of hers, a thrift-store coffee machine, dollar store coffee, a jumbo pack of Ramen, four packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a few milk crates, an assortment of chipped dishes, two pairs of secondhand boots, a six-pack of beer, a battered notebook, a tiny bag of dope in Jimmy’s jacket pocket, a radio, a cassette player, a box of tapes, and a miscellaneous assortment of items of little note. Paradise.





	Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> this was from my creative writing class also. shoutout to mr g even tho i graduated

Jimmy unlocked the door to the apartment, kicking it a couple times when it got stuck. It was overpriced, dirty, and was being rented from a scumbag, but it was better than the warehouse they had been squatting in for the three months prior.

As he expected, the apartment wasn’t deserted. She was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest. The apartment’s singular window was cracked, revealing a smog-filled black sky. Her pale fingers were curled around a cigarette. But, apart from her, the apartment was nearly empty. 

The pair did not have much: a mattress lifted from a dumpster, a few blankets, a trash bag full of Jimmy’s things and a suitcase full of hers, a thrift-store coffee machine, dollar store coffee, a jumbo pack of Ramen, four packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a few milk crates, an assortment of chipped dishes, two pairs of secondhand boots, a six-pack of beer, a battered notebook, a tiny bag of dope in Jimmy’s jacket pocket, a radio, a cassette player, a box of tapes, and a miscellaneous assortment of items of little note. Paradise.

“Have you been smoking?” she asked, closing her eyes, leaning her head back against a wall, and taking a long drag off of her cigarette. 

“You’re smoking,” he retorted, sitting down on one of the milk crates and beginning to unlace his boots. 

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said. She ran a hand through her tangled, half-shaven blonde hair. 

“I haven’t,” Jimmy replied. 

She opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment before relaxing slightly, apparently satisfied. 

“Have you eaten?” he asked. 

“I stopped at Food Not Bombs earlier,” she replied, “but I know you haven’t.”

Jimmy said nothing. There was a long silence.

“Your mom and Brad sent a letter,” she finally said. 

“Who the fuck gave them the address?” 

“Don’t know. Lou maybe.” She dug the letter out of her pocket and held it up. 

Jimmy could make out the first few lines. Dear James, it read, Brad and I miss—. Jimmy lost interest after that. All of the letters were more or less identical, and Jimmy had long ago stopped caring about their contents. They were full of shit, anyway—his mom might miss him, but Brad sure as hell didn’t. “Good riddance, you greasy little punk-ass bitch” had been his parting words. Jimmy hadn’t spoken to his mother. 

Good riddance to you, Brad, Jimmy thought. Good riddance to you and everything you did to us when mom wasn’t home.

Jimmy clenched his jaw and dug a cigarette out of his pocket. 

“G-Gimme a light,” he said. She obliged. 

The past three months had been better than the warehouse, and it wasn’t just having a place to go to the bathroom besides the hole in the back room. It was not having to deal with the constant letters, postcards, and photos, not have to worry about the siblings he left behind, not having the cement wall he had built around those memories slowly chipped away. 

After a long silence, Jimmy stubbed out his cigarette and looked up at her. He was aware of how pathetic he must look—how pathetic he was. He scooted closer towards her and rested his head on her shoulder. 

“I’ll rearrange Lou’s face with a bottle opener next time we see him,” she reassured him. 

Brad could stay the fuck out of paradise.


End file.
